Proof
by LovelyBonesRaine
Summary: Our lives had changed before we could even do something about it. It never occured to us that we should stop it. It only seemed naturally to let it go... Written preTDH. Mentions: drug and alcohol abuse.


-1Normally, I would not consider myself to have an addictive personality. Then again, there were a lot of things I never would've thought myself to be before my life took a 180 degree turn…

The summer after sixth year was tough. I made some of the hardest choices in the first weeks that followed the end of term.

I couldn't go home; not when there was a possibility of putting my family in danger. Mum and Dad thought I had finally lost it. I couldn't tell them why I wasn't coming home. Just that I couldn't… my absence broke my little sister's heart.

Harry had to go back to his aunt and uncle's house. We couldn't see him for a month. I spent those weeks pacing the floor practically twenty-four-seven, consumed with worry for him. As always. Ron would try his best to calm me, but even his good-natured humor couldn't deter my racing thoughts. I breathed a sigh of relief when the Order finally brought Harry back to Grimmauld Place.

The Order didn't take kindly to Harry's vow of not returning to Hogwarts for the next term. It was a constant battle of education over searches. Harry would mostly lock himself away during these days of argument and yelling. It took everything within me to not try and interfere. I couldn't handle another year of Harry being moody and withdrawn.

Eventually, Harry got his way. And Ron and I stood by him. We weren't about to turn our backs on the promise we had made to him that light summery day in June by the lake. In it together… that was the way it had to be. There was no other option for us.

But with the whirlwind of changes that had occurred in my life, I soon found some aspects of my new life just plain intolerable. I found myself agitated for seemingly trivial reasons. The thought of giving up had crossed my mind more than a few times at this point. But I pressed onward, not wanting to bother Ron and Harry with these battles of my own. There was enough on our plates already with the war and our searches.

Within the year, we managed to retrieve and destroy all the Horcruxes. Harry faced Voldemort in a final showdown, and the Dark Lord finally met his fate. I remember falling to the ground when Harry shouted the killing curse, so worn down and exhausted from all the fighting and searching, and the last thing I recalled before losing consciousness was the eerie silence that engulfed us after Voldemort took his last breath…

I woke up two weeks later in St. Mungo's. I had sustained injuries similar to those inflicted upon me two years before in the Department of Mysteries. Otherwise, I was alright. I had managed to survive the war, and to my instant relief, so had Harry and Ron.

After I was discharged, I could tell that things were now drastically different between the three of us. We had spent so much time together that suddenly there was nothing left to us. Nothing left to say, nothing left to know… we slowly grew apart. Thinking back on it, it makes me cry at the sheer fact that we had lost all innocence, and we could no longer help each other…

The years that followed brought in negative factors to each of our lives.

Harry was thrown back into the lime-light, a modern day hero for the wizarding world. He was constantly being photographed and asked to make public appearances. He became somewhat like a muggle celebrity… but I wasn't shocked to read later on in the papers that he had been admitted to a rehabilitation center for alcoholism. No man could endure that much exposure without running to something strong that could ease the memories away…

Ron sank into a dark depression. I could see it brewing in him even before the war ended. Soon after we reunited, he left on a "trip" to Ireland, and never came back. Last I heard, he was somewhere along the coast of France. I can only imagine how the Weasleys are dealing with it.

I, myself, parted from the wizarding world. I couldn't take the constant reminders of the very world that had taken so much out of me. I hid myself among the muggle community, renting myself a small apartment, and tried to get back in touch with my family. My attempts were short-lived and I found myself sinking into a depression of my own. Then, I met David.

David, at the time, was the bohemian guy who lived down the hall and was trying to make it as a singer, working part-time at the local bar and playing his guitar on the streets when he had free time. I instantly fell in love (I wouldn't call it that now) with his shaggy brown hair, stubbly chin and crooked smile. He became my closest confidante. Then my boyfriend. And then, my drug dealer…

It's hard to say when it first started. I was feeling down and moody, and David made a show of pointing it out. When I wouldn't perk up or even crack a smile, pulled something out of his pocket and pressed it into the palm of my hand.

"Take it. It'll make you feel better," he grinned. I quirked my eyebrow at him as I examined to white pill he had handed me. Taking a pill to feel better? It was a crazy concept back then to me… but at that point, I was tired. Tired of being angry, upset, down all the time.

One time was all it took.

My abuse quickly escalated from the occasional pain killer to large doses of vicodin and whatever else David would provide for me. Our relationship wasn't exactly the best. And at times, I really thought that I should just end things with him before they could get worse. But I was addicted. There was no getting around it, and he was the only supplier I knew then. So I stayed, allowing myself to be subjected to the harsh concept of give and take. Drugs for money. Drugs for sex. Refusal only got me pain…

Within months, David had fled after a report of suspicion was filed against him for drug trafficking. I didn't care. I had found new connections through him and it was all I needed to keep going. I changed from using the painkillers to experimenting with anything I could scrounge up money for. Marijuana, crack, acid… I fell into this dark world head first, and I eventually became so steeped in it that I couldn't get out. I was powerless. The hold that those substances had on me were stronger than my will to live.

Six years down the road, I found myself walking along the streets, searching for a job so that I could have money, so I could fulfill my "needs". As I passed by a mirror sitting in the show window of a pawn shop, I almost stopped dead in my tracks. This woman, clad in a short frayed black skirt and a tight top, clutching a thin jacket around my cold arms, shaking slightly from withdrawal, and her eyes devoid of the light that once shone brightly in them, was someone I didn't know anymore. She wasn't even human…

My feet carried me into the nearest bar, and I barely registered willing myself to get there in the first place. I took a seat, ignoring a cat call from one of the patrons, and softly asked for a beer. As I leaned forward on the counter on my elbows, I caught a flash of something familiar from the corner of my eye, and when I turned my head, I found myself face to face with none other than Harry himself.

I sat frozen, wondering if this could really be my best friend from so many years ago. His hair was smoothed down, but he was running his hand through it nervously. There were bags under his eyes; it looked as though he hadn't slept in years. He had grown a little taller and had filled out considerably, but because of the way he was slumped over on the counter, he seemed ten years older than he actually was.

And those eyes. Those emerald eyes I had once admired for their luster and their kindness, they were now empty. Dead. Staring blankly down into an empty shot glass.

As the bartender slid a glass of amber liquid in front of me, I stared down at it for a moment, unsure of whether it would be appropriate for me to say something to him after all these years.

"It's been awhile…" he said softly, not looking at me directly when he spoke. I turned my head to look at him again.

"It has."

He picked up his head and looked at me. Those eyes, again… they were dead, yet I got the feeling that there was just a bundle of emotion locked behind them, just waiting to burst free of its chains. I stared back, keeping my expression unreadable. Then he sighed.

"I'm sorry… for everything…" he croaked.

I looked back at my hands, twirling a coin between my fingers. "You don't have to say that…" I said softly.

"But I do," he said more earnestly, swiveling his stool as he reached out and tentatively placed a hand over mine. I stopped twirling the coin, turning my gaze to him, feeling my eyes prick with long-due tears. As his eyes bore into me, I knew he wanted to talk. Needed to talk.

All I could manage to say with a steady voice was, "Somewhere else. Not here."

We exited the bar, leaving both our drinks on the counter untouched. Somehow we ended up at a poor excuse for a park, sitting on a rickety old bench, and after what seemed like centuries, he spoke up again.

"I thought ignoring all this would solve everything… I know we all changed. I couldn't deal with it, though. We had been through so much together… and it killed me when it just ended right there, with nothing left but the memories…" He leaned forward, clasping his hands together, as though he were praying for the right words to say. "I thought if I tried hard enough, I could forget about it… and maybe, if I drank enough, the pain would go away…"

I bit my lip at this, realizing how this sounded just like me. Popping pills, smoking weed, experimenting with anything that would distract me from my real problems… I gently place my hand on his shoulder.

"You're not the only one who suffered, Harry," I said, choking back tears. I couldn't bring myself to tell him about the addictions, though. I couldn't imagine how much hurt that would cause him, just adding onto what he was dealing with now.

Harry turned his head to me again, reaching out a hand and brushing away a tear I hadn't realized had slipped from my now glazed eyes. I trembled now, knowing that six years of personal torment were quickly spiraling into an end as a few more tears streamed down my cheeks. Harry simply pulled me into his arms as I shook with silent sobs. As I clutched onto him, I could feel his own tears stream off his face and dampen my shoulder, making my cry even more.

After the tears subsided, we pulled away from each other, a sense of serenity falling over us. We made an agreement to meet for coffee the next day so we could discuss things more.

Within months, I found myself recovered from my addictions after many personal battles and many visits to a rehabilitation center in town. I returned to the wizarding world, settling in as comfortably as I could after six years of absence. Harry joined an AA group in London, managing to really get his life turned around and kept himself sober for a solid four months. He is still going strong.

At some point, planning a trip to find Ron was discussed, but we didn't have to worry long about it when he came back of his own accord a few days later. His homecoming was splashed all over the news. He didn't seem to care, though. He apparently had more pressing matters.

A memorial banquet for those lost in the war so many years before brought the three of us together again. I remember it so clearly, as though it merely happened yesterday.

Harry had accompanied me to the event, clad in one of his more humble tuxedos, and I in a simple long-sleeved black dress. We wanted nothing more than to draw as little attention to ourselves as possible, but Ron seemed to pick us out of the crowd all the same. He walked up to us in a blue suit while we stood by the punch bowl, sipping from our cups and talking about so-and-so's marriage and what not. When he approached, we all remained still and silent for a moment.

"Hey…" he said nervously, scratching his neck.

"Hi," I said back, biting my lip. Harry just nodded.

We stood there for awhile, the tension slowly dissipating between us. Then, as though we had never left each other before, we all began talking animatedly. It felt as though we were back in our fifth year, discussing Quidditch or our classes together and laughing without care. Looking at us, you wouldn't have thought we had ever been apart…

Nowadays, the three of us are busy, but we try to keep in contact as much as possible.

Harry is working with the youth department at the ministry, petitioning for a program for troubled youth in our community. He really enjoys working with the young kids around here and wants nothing more than to help them achieve their goals at their full potential.

Ron works for the Daily Prophet. He is their travel writer, and he writes weekly columns about the trips he made around Europe during his six year disappearance. I never knew he was such a passionate writer!

And as for myself, I'm working diligently at Hogwarts as the Transfiguration professor. Talk about following in your mentor's footsteps! Minerva McGonagall was delighted to see me come back after so long and proudly handed over her title to me as she transitioned into being the Headmistress of the school. It is just such a joy to teach a subject I enjoyed very much during my time as a student.

I will admit, our lives are still not perfect. Nor will they ever be. There will always be our everyday problems, and we'll still revisit our haunting memories of what we lost during the war. Harry and I will always struggle with substance abuse, even if we never touch our vices again. Ron will always feel that itch to leave again and visit some exotic place, just to get away from everything.

But through what I can only describe as a miracle, we found strength in each other to overcome ourselves, even though it took us so long to realize how deep we'd actually sunk in. And I can truly state this phrase, one that a very wise man once told me, with confidence:

Friendship is proof of magic; true friendship is proof of wandless magic.


End file.
